Chapter Ten
Micah
“Art imitates life. You’ll find my life where you find my art.” —Tanya
THE CRISP FALL AIR DANCES ACROSS MY FACE AS I LEAN my head back against the tombstone.
“I hope you two are up there having a time.”
Chi Chi was the person I confided in the most, so sometimes when I need to talk something out, I visit her here.
She taught me to go against the grain, and so though it might seem corny to some, I don’t shy away from what brings me comfort.
Sitting here and being able to run my hands along her name and sink my hands into the grass surrounding her does that.
I know she’s not here anymore. I know all that’s left in that grave are a pile of bones, but I think when I come here, that’s when she knows I really need her. It’s where I can feel our connection.
“I don’t know what to do, Chi Chi. I haven’t felt this off balance since I lost you.
It hurts. And I’m trying not to let that hurt define me like I did last time, but it feels impossible.
And then there’s Dani. You remember me telling you about her?
She’s back. It feels like I finally have another chance, but we’re both so different now.
She clearly doesn’t want to take another chance, so I don’t know why I can’t let it go—why I can’t let her go.
” I shouldn’t even be thinking about Dani right now, not in that way.
Our sole purpose of coming together should be honoring Tanya, not trying to rekindle a flame that long ago burned out, but Dani is branded on my skin, my heart, and my soul. I can’t forget her any easier than I can forget how to breathe, and I don’t know what to do with that.
I run my hands along the blades of grass. “Tell Tanya she’s on my shit list for putting us in this situation.” I can practically hear Tanya’s response in my head: Tell him I’ll pass him the toilet paper.
The wind serves as my only response from Chi Chi, and the chime on my phone reminds me that I have to get to the gallery.
I sigh as I stand up and brush off my pants. “I just wish y’all were here, that’s all.”
I make my way out of the cemetery, and as I do I notice two cardinals perched on a tree branch above me.
Cardinals are a message from your lost loved ones. At least, that’s what Chi Chi always told me. When I first met Tanya, right after she held a gun to my head, I could see a cardinal right outside her living room window. Maybe that’s what made me trust her so quickly.
Seeing two of them together now is a relief I didn’t realize I needed.
Smiling, I take one last look at Chi Chi’s tombstone and carry on.
My eyes are starting to cross from looking at this calendar.
This is the part I hate about running a business. Paperwork.
I’m looking at the list of commissions I’ve taken on and planning my schedule accordingly.
I never like to keep someone waiting for work they’ve paid for, so I want to make sure I’m staying on top of everything.
Once Dani and I rip the Band-Aid off this scavenger hunt, I don’t know when I’ll be back here long enough to work on these.
It’s worth it to spend more time in Dani’s presence, though. I’m determined to bring those walls crashing down, even if all she’ll ever allow us to be is acquaintances.
What I’m trying to figure out is where those walls came from in the first place.
Who caused her so much pain that she had no choice but to retreat behind a wall of perfection?
I hope it wasn’t me. I’m not much of a praying man, but I’ll pray to whoever I can to ensure that’s not the case.
And if I am responsible for her walls, I’ll pray to that same deity to allow me the chance to fix it.
I could ask Rome or Arnold. Who knows the kind of intel they’ve gotten during pillow talk, but that idea doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t want to know about Dani’s hurts from a third party. I want them from her. I want her to open her wounds to me and trust I’ll accept them. Love them. Heal them.
Needing a distraction from the woman who invades my every thought, I turn back to finish my schedule, then move on to double- check the gallery’s operating expenses. My hand is itching for a paintbrush right now, something to release this pent-up energy, but this stuff has to get done.
“It feels almost wrong seeing you behind a desk.”
The dulcet tones of that voice float across my office like a siren song.
I never thought I’d see the day when Dani would visit me here. The last time she was here was the end of us. Now, she’s casually leaning against my doorjamb like she belongs. Like she wants to belong. That’s probably wishful thinking on my part.
She looks gorgeous as always in a brown halter top, cream wide-leg pants, and brown boots. Her gold jewelry pops against her skin.
“Sorry, Bailey let me come back,” she rushes to say. She must have misunderstood my look of surprised joy for confused annoyance.
Jumping to stand, I say, “No, no. You’re always welcome. I was just surprised. I assumed we would meet at BMA.” I gesture for her to step farther into the office, careful to keep my eyes on hers and not the gentle sway of her hips as she does.
“I let Nisha borrow my car, so I had her drop me off. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to ride together.” As if seeking permission, she looks at the chair across from my desk and then back to me. She never needs permission to make herself comfortable in my space, but I nod.
Dani crosses her right leg over her left, sitting with that perfect posture of hers.
I shouldn’t move. I should sit down on my side of the desk and leave her to hers.
I swear I mean to do just that, but I can’t resist the urge to be close to her.
My feet carry me to her side where I perch on the edge of the desk, close enough to let the sensual scent of her perfume drift up to my nose.
Her body is racked with tension, but it’s not the same kind of tension I felt from her after she cried on my shoulder at Tanya’s house. This is more like nervous energy. Making her nervous seems to be a new favorite hobby of mine.
“Sounds good. So, how are you? How’s Myomari?” I needle her.
She tries to play off the twitch of her neck, but I catch it. “I’m fine and I assume Omari’s fine.” She makes a point to emphasize Omari’s name without the my in front of it. I know what his name is, I just don’t give a fuck.
“You assume? I’d think you’d know how the person you’re dating is doing.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “God, you’re nosy. Omari and I aren’t dating. We have a specific arrangement.”
“Oh really?” I lean forward a bit, taking pleasure in the way her breath hitches at the movement. “And what’s that arrangement? You know I’m nosy and all.”
She blows out a harsh breath, probably regretting even coming here today, but I fully intend to enjoy this. “We see each other when a need arises, okay?”
“A need,” I whisper. Does he fulfill her needs the way she deserves? Does he satisfy her every craving?
“If you ask me what kind of needs, I swear I’ll punch you right in your titty.”
That catches me off guard. “‘Titty’ is crazy.”
“You got nipples, don’t you? Then you got titties. Now, are you ready to go, or you need more time?” She leans back in her seat, looking pleased with herself.
It’s so adorable I can’t find it in me to push her anymore, so I put some distance between us. “Ready.”
She gets up from her seat and I rush to hold the door open for her. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Follow me,” I say as I turn in the opposite direction we’re supposed to go.
Her brow arches and she scrunches her nose, making her dimples disappear. “Why?”
“You want us to do this documentary, right? Trust me, this will be worth it.”
I turn my back to her, feeling the heat of her gaze on my neck as I walk farther away.
When we reach the reception area, Bailey is sitting at her desk pretending she wasn’t watching to see when we’d emerge.
“Bailey, you need me for anything?” I call out to her.
Her response is a look of boredom and a middle finger, so I smirk and lead Dani away.
I take her to the main gallery area and start walking a path through all the art, stopping to ask her about certain pieces.
“What do you think of when you look at this painting? What do you feel?” I gesture toward the piece titled “Kill Me with Your Tears” by an artist named Ayanna Powell.
It’s an oil painting emulating a chronophotographic sequence of a man crying and a woman wiping his tears, the distinct painted frames freezing each phase of their rapid movement.
Dani studies the piece religiously. It’s a sight to behold the way her eyes focus solely on the woman and then solely on the man before taking them in together.
“I feel panicked,” she says.
I tilt my head, observing the piece. I’ve spoken to the artist herself and many people about this painting. Many have felt sorrow, anguish, and even joy, but no one has ever said they felt panicked when looking at it.
“Can I ask why?”
“It makes me feel like my time is running out. If you were to see this exchange in real life, it would look … sweet. It would seem soft, slow, and gentle. But seeing it this way, with every single detail of this simple gesture on full display, you can see how fast they’re moving.
It’s a reminder of how quickly time is snatched away from us, even the little moments. ”
We both freeze when she says “the little moments.” She probably thinks I forgot about the phrase she told me her grandmom used to say.
If I didn’t think it’d send her running for the hills, I’d show her just how wrong she is.
I’m trapped in this vicious cycle of trying to form a bond between the people we are now without reminding her of the people we were.
“That’s an interesting way of looking at it.”
Her eyes glance over the painting once more before she pushes her shoulders back and strolls on to the next one.